Crossfire
by PaytonElizabeth1
Summary: Virgil Smith is a foreigner trapped in the war-ridden Italy, saving his money to one day go back home to America. Private Roman King, an American sniper stationed Italy, wanted just the same thing, and certainly didn't expect to find someone to fall in love with along the way. NOW ON WATTPAD AND ARCHIVE OF OUR OWN (AO3)
1. Introduction

**BLURB:**

Prinxiety; Human AU; World War II AU

Virgil Smith is a foreigner trapped in the war-ridden Italy, saving his money to one day go back home to America. Private Roman King, an American sniper stationed Italy, wanted just the same thing, and certainly didn't expect to find someone to fall in love with along the way.

NOW ON WATTPAD AND ARCHIVE OF OUR OWN (AO3)

**TRIGGER WARNINGS:**

Angst, violence, war, mentions of rape, mentions of abuse, mentions of underage sex, PTSD, torture

**DISCLAIMER:**

I do not own the Sanders Sides or any of its characters (belongs to Thomas Sanders). I do not own any of the various places mentioned in this book, except for the village Virgil lives in. I do own a few various characters, but most belong to different fandoms.

**UPDATE SCHEDULE:**

Updated every month on the 9th.


	2. Chapter One

**Notes: This book is a stand-alone, but I will have other books in this series, WWVerse, if you wish to read them (which, of course, you don't have to!).**

_September of 1943, Italy_

Virgil Smith took the time of his short walk to gaze at the scenery surrounding him. It was nothing special, something he has seen for the past few years and hasn't changed, excluding the times they would decorate for international holidays. Though, there were no celebrations going on today or the month for that matter, something has finally changed, and it wasn't for the good of the people. Germans had infiltrated the town, and there was nothing the man could do. Some of the actual Italians- people who have lived in this village much longer than he has and is native to the land- have started a resistance against these soldiers. Although, he was pretty sure it started back when Mussolini came into power.

He didn't keep up with the Italian Resistance. If he did, he could land himself in bigger trouble than he already is in. If he knew what was going on or, God forbid, he was part of it, death would be almost inevitable for him. An American in Italy was a bad sign, but with a secret to keep would be even worse. All he knew was that Sicily had been invaded and taken by the Allies, and they were making further advancement through Italy. Virgil didn't know how to feel about the information. He believed that the Allies were on the good side, the side of the heroes. But a pit in his stomach told him that when they come for his village, it won't turn out good. People will die. He might die.

The Germans were walking around the village as if they owned the place. Which, in a sense, they did. The villagers were helpless against them. They had many guns, great strength, and great numbers. The people had minimal guns, minimal strength, and minimal numbers. They had enough sense to realize that a revolt would do nothing but harm.

Virgil crossed his fingers for a second before letting go. It was a silent prayer he made everyday that he wouldn't be the next victim subjected to harm. At least, not until he found his brother. Only then would he let death claim him for its master prize. Only then will he be truly content.

He knew his prayers didn't work. He wasn't religious, but his brother was, for whatever reason. He hung onto Catholicism like it was a cliff and he was going to slip and fall at any moment. It was pure luck that he has survived this far, but it was all he had. All he had left of hope.

Everything seemed oddly calm. The Germans weren't tearing into anyone's houses. Nobody was shouting at each other in fast Italian that Virgil couldn't comprehend. Just quiet chatter that floated about the streets in a relaxed manner, like a butterfly flying from flower to flower, drinking all of the nectar gifted from the plant. Virgil visibly relaxed as his usual daily tensions released its claw hold from his mind.

The café was already opened when he reached the door. Entering the café, he took a deep breath of the warm air. It was scented with candles to smell like a damp, chocolate-oozing cake that would make anyone want to stay and chat for a while. They made good business because of it. The place wasn't too small nor too big, so it was cozy and gave Virgil a sense of security he usually only had at home.

A chime sounded above him as his co-worker waved to him. He gave a small smile and walked up the stairs. There were two floors to the café, and he worked on the second along with Luciano, another one of his co-workers. The bathroom was also located upstairs as well as a bookshelf, thus many people choosing to sit upstairs.

Virgil didn't mind working at the café. It was quiet and paid him well enough. He bought paints and canvas's so he could create paintings to sell for even more money. The paintings weren't highly priced, therefore about one or two went every couple of weeks. He was saving up the money to buy a plane ticket for him and Remy to go back to America, but that dream was to be put on hold for now. There wasn't a chance he was riding a plane in the middle of this war.

Per usual, Virgil was there before Luciano. He liked to be there early in case something happened. He tied on his apron that he grabbed just a moment ago and smoothed it out. His apron and clothes were by far the cleanest out of everyone's. He felt that he had to keep it in perfect condition just to keep his job, though it didn't really matter.

A few minutes later, Smith hears someone stomping up the stairs. There was no doubt it was his co-worker as soon as he saw his head. Luciano trudged behind the counter and pulled on his own apron sloppily and carelessly. Virgil watched him with amusement.

He grumbled out, "Don't look to me like that." He smirked at the frowning boy. Although he isn't the best person when he was agitated, it's always fun to watch him get upset over the tiniest things.

"I assume you want me to work the counter today?" The Italian simply nodded and rested his elbows on the wooden surface. He basically radiated frustration and exhaustion. "Rough night?" He inquired.

Luciano's lip twitched. "Got no sleep because my sister kept screaming and puked on me this morning." He closed his eyes for a brief moment before rolling them. "I know my parents needed the vacation but damn. They could've gotten a babysitter or something."

"You are the babysitter."

"I'm their son and I'm not being paid. What about that says 'babysitter' to you?"

Virgil sighed. This boy was impossible. "It's because you're their son that makes you obligated to take care of her." He paused. "Your other sister is there with her, right?"

"Yeah." He rubbed his eyes tiredly. A chime from the door downstairs caused the boy to drop his head and groaned quietly. "I'm not ready."

"Relax. It's probably just Nico." He nudged the dirty blonde with his shoulder. "But the first customer is going to come soon so get up and get ready." All they had to do was take the chairs off of the tables. It wasn't hard nor was it time consuming, but if you were in a state like Luciano was, you wouldn't want to do it either.

It wasn't too long before a person did come in. But the two had to wait a bit longer before someone decided to come upstairs. An old man who was ever-so-tired asked for his usual. "Straight black coffee, please." He kept blinking his eyes, clearly trying to stay awake. Virgil felt kind of bad, but not completely since he didn't have that much sympathy to share.

He paid the price and slumped on one of the three stools in front of the counter. He stared at one of the paintings with awe before turning to look at the painter. "Did I ever tell you how good your paintings are, Virgil?"

"Yes, sir, you have." This wasn't the first time this has happened. He often came in tired, forgetting that he had already complimented the American. He even bought a painting once. A smile crossed Virgil's face as he remembered the first time one of his artworks sold.

"Oh." He chuckled before responding, "Now I remember. Well, someone should remind you of your talents. I still have that painting hanging up in my room." It was the same speech he gave whenever they had this conversation, but Virgil was sure he'd never get tired of it.

The rest of the day went fine. Customers bustled about, talking nonsense that Virgil never cared to pay too much mind too. He never cared to get to know the customers too well unless they really stuck out to him.

Nothing had gone wrong until Virgil was leaving.

The café was closed. He wasn't actually closing that day, so he decided it was time to make his leave. But almost as soon as he stepped outside, he saw a man with a red and gold striped scarf walking at a brisk pace towards the café. It wasn't the bathroom cleaner, since the American has never seen him wear a scarf before, and the face didn't match up either.

While he was lost in his own thoughts, the mystery man had already come up to him and was talking to him.

"Hello? I need to get past you." His voice wasn't at all what Virgil had imagined him to have. It was much more smooth and soft than gruff and deep. Something about his accent was off, too, like Italian wasn't his first language. He couldn't even begin to think of what _could_ be his first language.

To say Virgil was confused would be a correct statement. The store was closed, not native to Italy, not the janitor, and wearing a scarf. Strange. "The store is closed, sir. You aren't allowed inside at this time." It should've been obvious. There was a sign even telling him that. 'Sorry, we're closed!' was written in fancy letters on a flip-over card.

Mystery Man spared a glance inside before fixing his eyes back on the American. "Can I come in, for just one moment? I just need to warm up and I'll be on my way." He took a deep breath. "I'm homeless."

Something was off. He was shifting from foot to foot, his hands were shoved into his pockets, even though he knew he was about to open a door. That was the other thing he noticed. Virgil seemed to know that this man was going to get in with or without his permission. It freaked him out and his instincts kicked in.

"Okay. Please wait here for one moment while I speak to my co-worker, okay?" He didn't really mean it as a question, regardless of how he said it because he pushed open the door without a second thought. _Ding._

Nico looked up from where he was wiping a table. "Forget something?" Nico was the unfortunate soul who got stuck with closing that day. The American didn't really think that he minded it that much, though. He did prefer to be alone most of the time.

He shook his head. "No. There is a man outside claiming he's homeless, but I don't trust him. Something is not sitting right with me." Nico looked outside the window, eyes widening for a split second before they went back to normal. Now something was definitely off.

"Let him in. If it makes you feel safer, I'll keep a hand on the gun." Virgil nodded his head for both the order and for him to get a weapon. It did make him feel the tiniest bit safer.

He motioned for the man to come in, since he had quite obviously been watching the whole conversation. Mystery Man came in and with a chime, Virgil knew there was no turning back. Whatever happens after this moment will be forever lost in history.

Virgil couldn't believe is eyes. Or ears, for that matter. Nico usually wasn't good with striking up random conversations with random strangers, but he was just talking with ease to this one like they were old friends. Were they? He didn't want to interrupt their interactions, but he was just so curious and suddenly getting home wasn't as big of a deal anymore.

"Hey, Nico, sorry to butt in but do you know him?" The sentence came out a little more rushed then he had hoped.

The Italian shrugged. "No," he glanced back and forth between the two men. "I only wanted to talk to him." He wasn't fooling anyone. That was a clear lie, but why would he feel the need to?

Virgil sat down on a stool next to Mystery Man. "What are you doing here?" He definitely wasn't homeless. The coat he was wearing was too expensive to belong to someone who doesn't have the money to afford such clothing. He opened his mouth to speak, but the other got there first. "Stop lying. I know you're not homeless."

Mystery Man huffed. "Fine. I need to give Nico here something important." He pulled out a yellow envelope from his pocket. _Nico di Angelo_ was signed on the top in print. He placed his fingers lightly on said object and slid it across the counter. The recipient stared at it before picking it up. "My name is Henry. Forget about me and I'll forget about you."

Two and two clicked together in Virgil's mind. Henry was giving Nico information, and not just any information. It was for the Italian Resistance. He looked back up at the man beside him, but he wasn't there. A chime sounded and Henry was gone.

"You're playing a dangerous game, Nico." He didn't look at the boy, for he knew it would hurt to see his face. The pit in his stomach didn't go away, no matter how much he willed it to. "You could die with that information." He knew that his words wouldn't change a thing. Nico would still carry this envelope to their leader. Nico would still risk his life.

"That's why I'm doing it, so others don't have to." Nico whispered. Virgil chuckled half-heartedly.

"You care for others more than you like to admit, Nico. You're a good person." He was about to get up and leave when he suddenly stopped. He didn't even know what he was saying until he said it. "I will close tonight. You need to get that envelope to whoever."

He heard a sigh echo off the walls of the café. "Thank you, Virgil. I owe you one." The man shook his head at the boy.

"Stay alive, and that'll be enough."

_Ding._

The walk home was short, but it was still long enough to receive suspicious glances from the Germans. They've lived in this village for long enough to gather that people walking around the streets at night was unusual, despite that people do actually go to work and sometimes have to close their work. But no, this was all much to "out of the ordinary" for the soldiers. He sent up a silent prayer that tonight wouldn't be the night he died.

Someone or something must've heard him, because as soon as he saw a Nazi take a few strides towards Virgil, the man that was with him stopped him. He must have been a higher ranking soldier of a sort, because in any other circumstances, nothing would've stopped him from continuing forwards. Virgil was sure of this because he had seen it happen before.

This had him thinking about Nico once again. For the whole hour or so he spent closing, he couldn't keep his mind off of the boy. Virgil had no idea what to do about the situation, because he knew that there was_ nothing_ he could do. Not only was Nico in danger, but he himself was too. He knew too much. He knew of a non-Italian Henry giving a _Resistanza Italiana_ member named Nico di Angelo information in a yellow letter.

_My name is Henry. Forget about me and I'll forget about you._

It was almost as if he had been warning Virgil to lose his memory of him as quick as possible, for he knew that the more he remembered, the more of a chance that he wouldn't have the privilege to remember anything anymore. That was why he wasn't in the Italian Resistance. He was scared. He was scared to be executed in the middle of the village as he's seen so many before.

Virgil made a conscious effort to keep his pace in check. He was almost to his house. He couldn't risk messing up now.

He closed the door shut behind him softly, as if there was a sleeping baby in the house. But he was all alone. No sleeping babies. No family. No brother. No Remy. He was free to make as much noise as he liked, but still, he didn't. He never did. He remained as quiet as he could be in his own home.

But something wasn't right. There was a sound coming from something other than himself. It wasn't a human sound, because there was no shouting or walking or breathing. It came from somewhere outside, making its way inside and shattering the silence. But no doors or windows were open. The sound forced itself through the walls and roof, sending off red flags in Virgil's mind.

His instincts kicked in, and he rushed towards the staircase leading down to the basement, which was inconveniently located at the very back of the house, near Remy's room. He gripped the handrail like his life depended on it, his fear of tripping heightened with his anxiety. He reached the bottom not a moment too soon as he heard the first bomb. Airplanes. A sound that he hadn't heard in a long time was back and haunting his presence, getting ready to destroy the place he'd learned to live in.

Virgil was scared to ride in airplanes, since he feared heights. But now, as their force boomed through his house, he knew that these weren't the same kind of airplanes he hated. These were worse, because they carried deadly weapons designed to destroy whole buildings.

Virgil collapsed on the ground as more and more bombs tore through the once-peaceful night. He shook with terror, tears streaming down his face. He wanted something to hold onto, but the basement was as plain as could be. Just four walls, a ceiling, and a floor. He settled with his sleeves, figuring that that would have to do.

His body convulsed with each sound he heard, dread never releasing its cold grip. So he sat there, alone and terrified with only the sound of bombs that were loud enough that, even in the distance, still echoed through his basement, to accompany him.


	3. Chapter Two

_September of 1943, Italy  
_

Virgil woke up with a start. He had no idea what time it was, much less when he went to sleep. He looked around, wondering for a moment why in the world he slept in his basement. Then the memories of the night hit him like a baseball that he failed to catch in his imaginary glove.

Bombs, airplanes, crying, _fear_. Lots and lots of fear. Fear that couldn't compare to anything else he had felt before. Fear that a bomb would strike his house. Fear that he would die without ever finding his brother.

A new emotion dawned on him that morning- or night. Determination filled his body, but almost as quickly as it came, it went. There wasn't anything he could to find Remy. The war prevented him from traveling any further than this little village. Although, he should consider himself lucky. They weren't living on poorly rations like he overheard some other parts of Italy were.

Virgil shook his head to regain his thoughts. Enough about Remy and enough about rations. There was a bombing and he needed to make sure everything was alright. His hopes weren't high, but he kept a little so he wouldn't give up before trying.

Virgil cautiously climbed up the stairs, gripping onto the railing until his knuckles turned white. He wasn't sure what he would see. Now that he thought about it, he supposed that since he was still alive, his house didn't get hit. His basement didn't go down that far, and the house would've collapsed onto him if it were hit by just one bomb. With his hopes raised a little further, his hand loosened its grip.

When he reached the top, his heart stopped. The first thing he noticed was a shattered frame on the ground that contained a drawing of him and Remy. It had never been securely screwed into the wall, so he guessed that it had bounced off its hold and fell to the floor. His heart continued in a sudden fast pace that made him gag.

Taking his eyes off the glass, he looked around. Nothing was badly damaged. A few things were in the wrong spot, either rolled or bounced away. A glass vase had also shattered, and that had extended over much of the flooring. Dust and wood shaving covered the entire area, causing the man to squint his eyes and sneeze when he took a deep breath. Not the most ideal situation he was in, but he could only imagine how much worse others must have it.

He assumed that the main target was the current military base that the soldiers were using. He hadn't the faintest idea of where that might be, since he hated the idea of possibly dying while trying to explore new places. He had only been as far as the pond that resided a little ways beyond his house. He enjoyed to feed the ducks and turtles, but he didn't think he would be visiting them today.

The window wasn't broken, thank God, so the sun shone bright in the early dawn. It could've been a normal day for anyone that hadn't known what had happened that night. He wished he didn't know, then he wouldn't have the constant nagging in his mind to stay inside all day and let no one in, no matter who they say they are. But he couldn't, for he had work and people to see.

The thought of work made him realize he was still in his uniform. It was all dirty and rugged now, though it couldn't have been any worse than those at his work. But in his mind, it was, and he couldn't stand to wear it. So, he marched into his room that was near the doorway leading into the house. He picked out any pair of clothes that he wished to wear, since work would probably be more relaxed after the bombing. He stopped for a second, wondering if he even had to go, considering the state of affairs. Virgil went on ahead with it anyway, deciding to not take the risk. Even if he was off for today, he had a nice pair of clothes on to spend the day in.

The minute he stepped outside, he could smell smoke. It wasn't thick, black smoke, like something you would see in a dramatic film. Really, it was only the smell, but in the distance, he could see the image of what he was smelling rising from buildings. It wasn't just a few places, like he suspected, but it was in a few different places, vastly spread out. He didn't know what these attackers were thinking when they did such a thing, but he didn't know the first thing about war strategy anyway.

The second thing he noticed were the soldiers. These guys wore slightly different uniforms than the Germans. Something clicked in his brain. _Allied forces. These men are the ones fighting against Germany. _He couldn't remember exactly where he heard it, but it was most likely at the café. All sorts of gossip and talk floated around. It wasn't exactly a big place, making everything easy to hear if the speaker is talking loud enough, and if you're paying close attention.

He didn't mean to snoop in others business. It just sort of... happened. He can't speak for his co-workers, though. He had no idea what goes through their heads. Though Luciano was pretty readable. He outwardly shows his emotions most of the time, and when he didn't, well, it was unnecessarily easy to get him to talk.

Virgil didn't want to fear the Allies. They were, after all, the 'good guys', as he had heard customers put it. He had no idea what made them good, since they seem to have only done the exact same thing the Germans had done: Take over the village. His thoughts worsened when he saw one walking over to him. He had a smile on his face, however, giving Virgil the opposite feeling of fear and suspicion.

"Hello," the soldier introduced, "American soldier here. There is nothing to fear." Virgil had no idea how he had known that he was nervous. It made him reconsider how well he put up his facade. Also, the soldier didn't speak in Italian. Was it that obvious that he wasn't a native Italian? "Would you mind giving me your name?"

Virgil was certain that even if he didn't give his name, American Soldier here would still have it by the time their conversation was over. "Virgil." No need for last names. American Soldier continued to stare at him, almost egging him on. That was when he realized that there was a need for last names. "Smith." He uttered out, not sure if American Soldier heard it or not. He appeared to have, nevertheless, with the small nod of his head.

"Thank you, Mr. Smith." Virgil thought the conversation was over, but alas, it was not. "Are you also an American, by any chance?" Ah, questions were the bane of his existence. It felt like the beginning of his arrival to Italy as an immigrant. Questions had come to him left and right, and then he had his brother to shield him from the overwhelming confusion. There was no one to shield him from this soldier.

He said, "I am an American immigrant. Came from Florida." He didn't wish to say more, but there really wasn't much else to say. He just hoped he wasn't asked the dreaded query that usually came after the last one.

The question hung in the air like the smoke that was coming from the buildings. It stayed until you got rid of it. Virgil mentally sighed and prepared himself for a short answer that he hoped would explain it all. "Parents sent me here for- for a vacation." He lied. Goddammit he lied! But what else could he say? He couldn't just say he was gay for crying out loud! He could only imagine what would happen to him.

"Ah, I see. You haven't been able to get back with the war." He filled in the rest of the sentence for him. Virgil didn't know if he had seen the mental conflict in his eyes, or if the soldier wanted to call the conversation there, but American Soldier didn't pry on. "Thank you, Mr. Smith, for cooperating with me. My name is Keith, by the way!" Keith quickly added his name on the end, as if in a hurry. Maybe he was? Keith swiftly turned and headed away.

Virgil made a mental note of his features. Shaved head, tanned skin, blue eyes, slightly muscular, tall, probably in his mid-30s. Despite his appearance, he acted kindly, and ended up treating Virgil like a child. He didn't know whether to be offended, sad, or relieved. He went with the last one since he wasn't hurt in any way other than his emotions being toyed with unintentionally.

He decided the best thing he could do is shake off the interaction and continue on with his day. He needed to see if the café was okay, and more importantly, see if his co-workers were okay.

Despite what people might think of him at first glance, he really did care for everyone. He just doesn't get enough sleep, causing his eye bags to droop and darken as the days wore on. Although, it gave off the vibe he needed. Interacting with people by choice isn't something he liked to do, and the eye bags made people stay away from him.

Once he reached his destination, he noticed that there were soldiers standing both inside and outside of the café. He supposed that he had begun to suspect that, since the soldiers were now everywhere. Then he saw Nico standing inside, talking to a young soldier that he assumed was a medic by the bands that were wrapped around his biceps.

He pushed the door upon with a ding, alerting Nico of his arrival. He had yet to find out if Luciano was there, but he assumed not, since he had his sisters to take care of. It was the most extremely bad luck that landed him at home without his parents to help him. He wondered if he should drop by and see what they're doing, possibly even help them. Babies scared him, however. Too unpredictable.

After a quick hello to Nico and a nod to the blonde soldier, he ascended up the stairs to find but two soldiers. It made sense, since literally nobody else was there to serve them. There was no point to them being on the second floor other than to use the bathroom, which happened to be a one-person stall. Virgil thought that they were just waiting on their friend to come out, but the way the stood excitedly when he got behind the counter proved him wrong.

The first to come up was a huge man, and that was not an exaggeration. He must've been over 6'7, and weighed over 250 with the way his muscles ripped when he moved them. It would've been impressive if it weren't the overwhelming fear that paired along with it. It seemed like everything was out to scare him today. First the bombs, then the aftermath, then the first soldier, and now this. His day was going swell!

"Straight black in the largest cup you can find." He must've known that Virgil wasn't going to ask him the usual question after the first few seconds of silence. He must be used to it at this point, since even his voice was scary. It held humor, as if he enjoyed playing these mind games.

The man scrambled to start his order. He did find the largest cup they had, and decided against charging more for it. The tattoo on his arm of a bloody knife gave him bad vibes. Meanwhile, the second man looked much calmer and nice, much to Virgil's relief. He didn't want to deal with another giant.

He could've been more efficient and went ahead and took the second soldier's older, but he was too anxious about messing up Scary Man's order while also focusing on Nice Man's. So, he made Nice Man wait until the coffee was done, which luckily didn't take too long with the lack of customers, which also worried him. He did come in late, so he definitely isn't going to be seeing his usuals in the morning, like the man that always forgot he had already complemented his work.

But, the after-dawn customers weren't here. He prayed to whatever force was controlling this universe to let them not be dead, though he found it impossible for not even one person to be lost to the bombs.

He was about to call out Scary Man's name, but then he realized he didn't know Scary Man's name because he was never told. He then proceeded to ask Nice Man, who told him it was Madison. Virgil thought that was a girl's name, but he didn't say anything. He could add 'Giants With Girly Names' to the list of things he was scared of.

He called Madison's name who retrieved the coffee with a 'thank you'. At least now Virgil knew he had manners, something in which he didn't show when ordering. He turned to his waiting costumer. "What would you like to order, sir?"

The soldier smiled, and Virgil realized that he was cute and hot. It's hard to be both at the same time, but the soldier had achieved it. He then realized that he would have a much harder time hiding his sexuality now. Fun. "I would like a latte. Two cream, two sugar, please." His voice was charming and soft, causing a blush to battle its way onto the worker's cheeks. Naturally, Virgil steeled his heart. He couldn't afford to lose everything he had due to some stupid soldier. "The name is Roman King, at your service." _Just like a prince._

Per the code of the café, he was supposed to write the name of the customer on the cup using a black pen. Virgil wanted to get rid of his feelings as soon as he could, so he still wrote Roman's name, but also wrote, 'You're not a prince, don't act like one.' "Roman!"

Roman King came to the counter to receive his drink, but when he read the side, he glared at Virgil. "A man can dream!" He marched back to his seat, and very non-discretely showed Madison his coffee cup, all while sending glares at the worker. Virgil was surprised at how sad he felt. He had just told off a man he had never met before. Sure, they didn't know each other, therefore he couldn't have really have any feelings towards him. But it felt like there had been an opportunity at a friendship, and he just shattered every chance of it.

Nobody else showed up for work. Any customers who did come looked pretty spooked and didn't say anything other than their order to him. The occasional soldier will come along and be loud. There weren't only Americans. There was also the English and the Scots. He had even heard that there were Australians, though none came to the village, according to one of the Scottish soldiers.

Virgil never did get around to going to Luciano's house. He forgot because he was too busy getting worked up over Roman King. The one soldier in the whole damn day that had truly caught his eye. He was interested in him, even though he was more than certain that Roman had no desire to even talk to him anymore. The message itself wasn't bad, it was just what it meant between them. Virgil had told him off for something as simple as acting like a stupid prince, and that meant that Virgil really didn't like him and... oh. He's in deep.


	4. Chapter Three

_September of 1943, Italy_

Virgil's life since Private Roman King arrived had significantly dropped in quality. Everyday induced another argument, and he couldn't even begin to understand why or how he cared so much about the man. Something about him caused him anger beyond the breaking point, yet another something caused him to worry. The worry was about what Roman thought about Virgil himself, like he was a schoolgirl stressing over a crush.

Another thing to worry about was the nights when gunshots seeped its terrifying sound throughout the village, making him wonder who was living, who was hurt, and who had already used their last breath. Every night this happened, he prayed to whoever was up there that Roman was not the last, and preferably not the second, but he knew not to ask for too much.

Virgil could go on and on about Roman if someone asked him, but yet, he couldn't, for it would be too suspicious. Sure, he could make himself _sound_ angry, but it had no effect. In school, he would get teased for supposedly "liking" a boy because of how long he could talk about him. Virgil also knew that children were not adults, but some still acted like it. He could take his own brother for an example. He would join in on this teasing, even in adult life, he would sneak out at night, disregarding that he was working a night job and didn't want his younger brother to notice, and he would sleep like a teenager. In other words, impossible to wake up. Though this was most likely due to his night job previously mentioned before, and the hours he worked in the morning, and his afternoon job.

Okay. So maybe adults had their reasons for acting like adolescents.

Virgil shook his head. He was desperately scatter-brained, and his mind went from one thing to the next in an instant. he couldn't stay focused on one thing for too long before his mind went elsewhere, and this was evident when speaking. Topics tended to jump forward and then backward and then around. This was the reason why he was such a terrible story-teller.

"You back in dream land again?" Private Roman King spoke from his place in front of the counter top. Virgil scowled. Here he was again, back for more arguments.

"Like you've never been there." He looked down and then back up, trying to think of what to say. "Just tell me what you want to order." He didn't know why Roman kept coming back to Virgil for his order everyday, since the downstairs was just wasn't any more crowded than the upstairs.

Roman scoffed, staring into Virgil's eyes with a slight smirk. "At least my dream land is fun. Your's is probably a big pit of darkness." Virgil hated that smirk. It meant he had something rude to say to him. That's why he tried so hard to wipe it clean off his face.

"Just order already. You're wasting time like you usually do." Roman ordered his coffee, which changed from time to time. While he was saying this, something struck the barista odd. When he was finished, he expressed what he was thinking. "You never order anything with bourbon. Actually, you never order anything with alcohol at all in the afternoon." Yes, the soldier came in the afternoons as well.

Roman stiffened for a moment with his eyes glazing over. He closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, he was back to normal. "It's dangerous for me to get tipsy. I have a low tolerance for drinks like that."

Virgil knew that wasn't the full story. "What makes you so special? Are you really a prince?" He mocked, referring back to the day they had met. In every conversation they had, the man being a prince was always brought up.

It was the orderer's turn to scowl. "No, I'm not a prince. And I am a sniper, thank you very much. My whole job relies on my aim and calmness. Getting drunk will result in my death." He paused, smirking. Again. "And I can't do that because you would miss me too much. Wouldn't want to upset you!"

One part of Virgil wanted to reach over the counter and slap the man across his smiling face, another felt oddly happy, and another froze. Actually, most of him froze.

A sniper. Out of all the things Roman could've been, he had to be a sniper. Virgil knew the dangers of such a position. He knew for a fact that the Germans had a sniper, even though he didn't know which one he was. Snipers died left and right. If the German sniper was able to get a good aim...

"Hey! You okay?" Fingers snapped in front of him. He focused on the sound of the fingers and the sound of the voice. Of the living, breathing voice of Private Roman King. His heart was racing as he gazed upon the man's face, said man doing likewise back. "You aren't actually worried about me, are you?"

No. "...Yes. I was worried. But I worry about a lot of things so don't get your hopes up." He spoke hurriedly to justify why he said yes. So, he forgot to be careful. "I even worry about falling down or up the stairs."

Roman choked down a laugh. "Up the stairs?" Luciano handed him the coffee and then he in turn gave it to Roman. "Let me tell you something, Virgil." He put an elbow on the counter, leaning forward. "You can't let small fears get in the way of your life, because then you'll be controlled by everything around you, obeying inanimate objects that you should not be bowing to." He took a sip of his coffee, straight black.

Virgil crossed his arms, fighting back the urge to sway side to side. "What could I do to change my ways?" It was more of a challenge than anything, a provocation if you will. But his eyes softened, as if sensing that this was a protection mechanism, to block out a way into his heart.

"Run up and down your stairs everyday without using the handrail. Put it into your muscle memory. Then all that's left is your conscious. Take control. Don't let anything else stand in the way."

Behind Roman came a regular customer. Virgil shooed him away, desperate to get away from the very person that was melting his heart. No, he would not say goodbye to him. No, he would not follow his advice, because what would he know about constant worry?

As the barista took the regular's order, he couldn't help but be distracted by his earlier conversation. Of course! He was so idiotic! He would know everything about constant worry. He's a _sniper_ for God's sake, he fears for his life every day! He fears of getting the slightest bit thrown off from a little bourbon in case the Germans were to come back for another round.

Maybe he should try running up and down the stairs without the handrail.

It seemed so childish. Roman did, the soldiers did, the stairs did, the mechanism did, his worries did. The world and the people in it all acted like a big baby. That had guns. And were killing each other.

Another thing Virgil noticed about Roman was how he never rolled up his sleeves or pants. Soldiers came in everyday with the sleeves rolled up to some degree, and some with their pants doing the same. But Roman never did. He occasionally wore gloves as well, which made no sense to the barista. He figured it would mess up his grip on his gun, furthermore throwing his aim off and missing.

He didn't touch people either, and nobody touched him. While the other men were slapping each other on their backs, punching each other on their arms, he simply laughed along with them without participating in the rough play.

Virgil hated how he knew this about the sniper. He observed him like he was a piece of art in a museum, but then when he would notice Virgil staring, said man looked away as though he wasn't a piece of art. He really did enjoy art, that's why he created and sold his paintings.

Roman walked to the counter and didn't start a fight. He ordered like a civil human being, much unlike his usual personality. This got on the barista's nerves. _Was Roman now worried about him?_

Virgil was a centimeter away from picking a fight himself before Roman said something. "Who made these paintings? They're quite lovely." He stared expectantly with a gleam in his eyes.

"Uh, I did." He grimaced. He should've just lied, but he had lied enough already to the poor man. Telling him wouldn't be such a bad thing, right?

The gleam was no longer just in his eyes. It seemed to expand across his entire face, even his teeth were glowing white. The Germans teeth were never that bright.

"You did?" Virgil could've sworn the private was going to burst out of his own skin. "How much is that one?" He pointed to the one positioned almost directly behind Virgil, a painting that depicted a rain forest with a parrot standing as the brightest part of the scene. It really wasn't standing, but rather sitting on a branch.

He sighed as he told him the price. "Where would you even put it?" Surely there wasn't any room for a painting to be hung. But then again, he didn't know much about military life.

Roman shrugged. "I could hang it up in the infirmary, or maybe in the sleeping quarters. It really is bland in there. Did the Krauts have no taste whatsoever?" He chuckled to himself. "I'll pay for it when my hot chocolate is ready."

Hot chocolate took longer to make than the others. This left enough time from them discuss something, anything. Virgil's mind struggled for a topic, until he finally blurted out, "Why do you wear gloves?"

Roman lifted his gloved hands and stared at them, pondering for a moment. "I have a nightmare, the next day I'll wear these. They somehow make me feel safer." He lowered his hands and smiled. "What about you? Tell me something I don't know about you."

He also has nightmares. "I have nightmares too." Virgil said softly, looking down as though ashamed, which he was. He really disliked them, and they had only gotten worse since Remy disappeared. Remy had some sort of calming energy about him. God, he missed his brother.

"I said something I don't know." Virgil popped his head up suddenly, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. "I just connected the dots. Those with many worries tend to have many nightmares." Okay, that made sense. Virgil let out a breath. He _wasn't_ being stalked.

At first, Virgil was going to say that he was American, but he figured that that fact was bluntly obvious. "I have an older brother." Roman's smile faltered for a split second, but almost as soon as it happened, he was smiling like usual. Almost. Something was off.

"Really? What's his name?" His tone of voice was slightly off as well. He was hiding something, and Virgil was scared to push for it. But curiosity overpowered him, even though he knew curiosity would be his inevitable death.

"Remy. Do you have a sibling?" Roman gripped the counter's edge tightly, rocking forward and backward. He let out a strangled breath.

"Yeah." He replied with one word, contrasting his normal responses. He gained a far away look, and one of the other soldiers rushed forward, just as Luciano gave Virgil the hot chocolate.

"What did you say to him?" Cameron, the soldier, nearly yelled these words. The barista nearly lost grip of the cup. "Look at me, Roman. You're in Italy. You're with Cameron, and you're with Berry, Arthur, and hell, you're with Virgil." Cameron was desperately trying to get Roman to look his way, which he finally succeeded in. This time, Virgil did lose his hold on the hot chocolate.

The sniper lifted his arms off of the counter, loosely wrapping one arm around the back of Cameron's neck and the other left hanging beside him. Cameron guided him to their table as Virgil hurriedly cleaned up his mess, telling Luciano to make another one.

"What happened there?" The boy asked as he began his second hot chocolate.

"I don't know." He truly didn't know. He said he had an older brother named Remy, and that was it. Maybe he had a bad memory of someone named Remy, since he did say he had nightmares. But he was also in the military. Nightmares wouldn't be uncommon.

He received many glares from the soldiers, but some were full of pity, like they knew that he had no idea this would happen. That was what killed him inside- the fact that he didn't know what the hell he did.

When the hot chocolate finished for the second time, Roman was the one who received it. He kept his eyes from meeting Virgil's, but what surprised him the most was the fact that he still bought the painting. Virgil grabbed it from the wall and personally delivered it, for Roman had already gone back to his seat. He accepted it with a nod and a feeble "thank you". It was set down beside him and wasn't picked back up until he left.

That night, Virgil walked up and down the steps 100 times without using the handrail.


End file.
